


below the earth

by venndaai



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Other, Trick or Treat: Trick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 15:16:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21163766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/pseuds/venndaai
Summary: The Deep Roads are very dark.





	below the earth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artemis1000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis1000/gifts).

The Deep Roads are very dark. It takes Shale some time to notice this, because its vision is far better than that of the short and squishy people and at first it has no problem seeing even in the most lightless of caverns. It still has no problem seeing, not really. The shapes of the rock forming tunnels and caves are perfectly clear, as are the stalactites that it sometimes does not warn the others about, because it is funny to hear them shriek when they bang their squishy heads. 

It warns Sten, though. He inclines his head and says, “Thank you, kadan,” and Shale’s crystals hum pleasingly. His eyesight is not as good even as a dwarf’s, underground. It is the one point of inferiority Shale has catalogued about him, but Shale does not mind it. It enjoys being able to guide him. 

It also becomes apparent, after some time, that Sten cannot hear the lyrium singing in the rock, the song that distracts Shale and the dwarves. But this is perhaps not a disadvantage of his. The song is distracting, and makes Shale’s body vibrate unpleasantly. 

It seems to be taking longer to return to the surface than it did to descend. The dwarf warden is distressed by this. Shale is not. The dwindling supplies in their packs are no business of Shale’s. It is aware that Sten, for all his excellent qualities, partakes in the disgusting ritual of eating and drinking with the others when they are in camp, but several days ago he announced he would be fasting to conserve the supplies, and so far has shown no ill effects from it. Shale is certain they will return above before he needs to eat, and if worst comes to worst he can always eat the drunk dwarf. 

That idea gives Shale no small amount of pleasure, for the drunk dwarf has begun to once more make comments about Shale’s past. Shale is trying to be grateful that the dwarf warden had been willing to make a trip to the ruins of Cadash Thaig, but it deeply wishes the warden had left the other dwarf behind. 

I am a dwarf too, Shale thinks, but the thought won’t stick. Not exactly. It lodges up with the drunk dwarf’s comments somewhere in the cracks and crevices of Shale’s rock, impossible to get rid of, irritating as sand. 

When they pause for the dwarves to rest and the warden dwarf to peer at its map, Sten says to Shale, quietly, “Is something concerning you, kadan?”

“Is the drunken dwarf correct?” Shale finds itself asking. “Am I a woman, because I was made from one?”

“Hm,” Sten says. “On Seheron you would be a man, because you fight. Here… I do not know.”

“Your Qun says that all who fight are male?” Sten nods. “I suppose that is simpler than the way the humans do it.”

“Simpler is not always better,” Sten says.

“No,” Shale agrees. “No, it is not. But it makes my rock ache less.”

And it would not be so bad, Shale thinks, to be considered the same as Sten, though the whole thing still strikes it as entirely ridiculous.

It was some time after that conversation that Shale begins to notice the dark. It is a very strange darkness. It does not obstruct a golem’s vision of the rocks, the stalactites, the occasional satisfyingly squishy underground creature; it simply lurks in the corners and crevices, muffling the singing of the lyrium. In a way its silence is pleasant, at first.

After some time, it is less so. 

After some time, there is a song in the darkness, too.

“Kadan,” Sten is saying.

Shale blinks, and shifts. It is in an unfamiliar cavern, water dripping from an uncomfortably close ceiling, and it is standing in what looks like very old dwarven ruins. There is something before it. A block of stone, carved with inscriptions long blurred into nothing by the dripping of the water. On top of the stone is a crystal that sings a weird, sickly song. 

“What am I doing here?” Shale asks.

“I do not know,” Sten says. “You turned down a side passage, and would not respond to our calls. I am the only one who could keep up with you.” 

Shale snorts at the inferiority of squishy dwarves, but it is thoroughly unsettled by the entire situation. “It is this thing,” it says, gesturing at the crystal. “It is… singing.”

Sten considers the stone, and the crystal. “A dangerous thing,” he says. “We should leave it, and return to the others.”

Shale looks at the crystal. It sings of the peace and quiet of the dark, of a return to the embrace of the earth, of serving an ancient, primordial master.

Shale has had enough of masters. It brings its fists up and then down onto the crystal, which shatters with a most satisfying crunch. 

The satisfaction, unfortunately, is quite ruined when, a moment later, the ceiling of the cavern shatters too.

It is very dark indeed in the small chamber now. Shale knows how big the space is, though, even without sight, because it presses in on all sides, so tight Shale can barely shift its arms. And it must restrain itself from shifting them too enthusiastically, because Sten lies very still in the narrow space between Shale’s chest and knees and elbows. 

For a few minutes Shale thinks that he is dead. It is not at all a fan of the things it feels then. But eventually he stirs. 

“You… protected me,” he says, voice somewhat slurred. “Thank you.”

“I suppose we must wait for the others to dig us out,” Shale says. “How terribly tedious.”

“I do not hear any sound of them,” Sten says. “It is possible they were killed in the cave in. Even if they were not, they do not have the proper equipment to shift this amount of rock. Even if they did, it is likely that any attempt to uncover us would completely collapse this cavern.” 

“How cheery you are,” Shale says, and is angry. They do not speak for an hour after that. Shale can hear Sten’s slow, steady breathing as he does one of his Qunari meditation things. 

Shale thinks about being buried here. In some ways it would be an improvement over Honnleath. There are no humans to vomit or defecate or copulate on its feet; there are, and this is quite a high selling point, absolutely no pigeons in the depths of the earth, at least none that it has noticed thus far. And at least Shale can move its fingers and toes, a little bit, and close its eyes when it is tired of looking at dark nothing. 

It is far more boring even than Honnleath. But that might not be so bad. Shale can close its eyes and listen to the distant singing of lyrium, and forget boredom and sunlight and the vague memories of once being something other than rock. 

But it does not want to be trapped here in the earth for years pressed against Sten’s rotting corpse. How long would it even take a body to decompose, down here? Would the dead meat attract tiny eyeless scavengers, swarming over Shale’s rocky back? Eurgh. 

Shale does not know it is going to speak until its mouth opens and it hears itself say, “Sten, I am… I am sorry.”

The steady breathing shifts its cadence. Sten says, “There is nothing to apologize for, kadan.” 

“That is kind of you to say, but it is entirely my fault that we are in this situation,” Shale says. 

It can feel Sten shrug, as much as he is able to wedged between Shale’s unyielding limbs. “This is not the death I looked for,” he says, “but I have my sword. I do not die without honor. And I am not alone. This is preferable to the fate I waited for before I met the Warden.” 

Shale can understand that logic, it supposes, but it is not satisfied. It wants, very strongly, to stamp its feet and scream with all the power it possesses, but it cannot move. It cannot injure Sten. 

_ You _ will _ join us, golem, _the darkness whispers. It is all around, now, and there is nowhere to run from it. Not that Shale is interested in running, generally, but it cannot think of a way to squish the darkness. 

“I am glad that I was able to meet you, kadan,” Sten says. 

Oh.

“I feel the same way,” Shale says, and the darkness has nothing to add.

Shale does not know how much later it is when the earth shakes again. Sten had stopped responding to conversation some time before, but Shale still tries to curl its granite form further around the Qunari’s body. Rocks bang and skip off of Shale’s skin. There is light, suddenly, after nothing but darkness. Shale is a golem and feels no pain from its sudden brightness, but it cannot see much, its vision adjusting.

“There you are!” a dwarf says. Shale is not completely certain, but it thinks this is not one of the dwarves it has been traveling with. 

“Shale!” another dwarf whispers, and oh yes, it thinks this is the warden dwarf. “Quickly! The passageway could collapse any moment.”

Shale moves its shoulders a little, experimentally, and feels the earth groan above it. So instead it bends its elbows enough for the dwarves to pull Sten out from his stony tomb. “Take him,” Shale says. “I will hold up the passage.”

It is annoyed somewhat. It had been looking forward to squishing an archdemon. And perhaps seeing some of the places the squishy ones talked of with such feeling in their voices. 

Perhaps it will keep itself entertained coming up with good insults for the darkness. 

Still, it feels a pang when hands grab Sten and it feels his body being pulled away. 

“Come on, you sodding idiot!”

Oh, it would not miss _ that _voice.

“These Legion of the Dead blighters put up all sorts of clever support beams and scaffolds and… shit, I don’t understand any of it, but you can come on out of there, it’s fine.”

“I cannot,” Shale says. “The passage will collapse.”

“You insulting dwarven know-how?” the drunk dwarf argues. “I can’t believe it, from a fellow dwarf.”

“I am not a dwarf.”

“All right, stay in here if you want,” the miserable creature continues. “Let the elf play find the anvil with your big handsome Qunari, huh?” 

Shale pushes itself free of the stone, fully intending to squash the drunken dwarf for good. But it still cannot see well, and can only stumble in the direction of the thing’s hearty chuckles until the passage widens and there is cool air on its face, contrasting with the pulsing heat of the molten flows that light the Deep Roads. 

_ You’ll be back, _ the darkness murmurs.

But it is only dead rock, and Shale is alive.


End file.
